


You really got me lifted off my feet

by StrikerEureka



Series: I've really got my heart out on my sleeve [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Daddy Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Engagement, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 20:37:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6722479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrikerEureka/pseuds/StrikerEureka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before and after Lafayette proposes to his darling John (with a little help from Jefferson, and some opposition from Henry Laurens, along the way).</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“What do you want, Jacky? Tell me.”</i> </p><p>  <i>John falls silent again and Lafayette contents himself with rubbing his thumb over the rose gold band that’s been sitting on John’s finger for exactly seven weeks, now. Lafayette has been counting. </i></p><p>  <i>“I don’t know,” John tells him in a quiet voice. “I just want to be with you.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	You really got me lifted off my feet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [holograms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holograms/gifts).



> Updated on 8.26.16 to include mentions of past Lafayette/John André.

When Lafayette informs Thomas of his intention to ask John to marry him, the man pauses with his teacup halfway to his mouth and raises his eyebrows. Lafayette doesn’t squirm but there’s a sensation in his stomach that he interprets as the desire to do so. Thomas puts his cup back down on the saucer, without taking a drink, and folds his hands together on the tabletop. 

The bustle of the café goes on around them as the moment stretches and Lafayette’s nerves increase. Has he erred? Misspoken? It’s been so long since he’s doubted his English but he’s starting to think he has said the wrong thing. Then Thomas reaches across the table and claps him on the shoulder and he finally smiles.

“Making an honest man out of that liberal socialist, huh?”

Lafayette shakes his head. “He is an honest man all on his own.”

Jefferson picks up his teacup again. “You leave it all to me,” he says, causing Lafayette’s forehead to bunch in confusion.

“Leave what?”

 

\--

 

It’s kismet, he thinks, that Lafayette met an American while he was home for Bastille Day who not only lives in New York, but is active in the same realm of politics that both John was brought up around and Alexander is involved in. As different as their leanings can be, Lafayette had found himself endeared to Thomas Jefferson from the moment he met him. They had exchanged numbers and texed back and forth frequently when Lafayette had returned to the States and Thomas had stayed behind in Paris.

He loves Thomas, as much as he loves Alexander and Hercules, but has found that the feeling is not wildly shared; not even by his darling John. It dismayed him at first that they could not truly find a way to welcome Thomas into their group, but Jefferson had not seemed to want that, regardless. He hangs around with them infrequently, but doesn't prefer to be included in their group outings. 

Still, Thomas remains his close friend and Lafayette is grateful for his assistance in locating a ring befitting his beloved John, even if it comes in the extravagant form that it has. 

“This is too much,” Lafayette tells him when he follows Thomas into the rented-out studio.

“Nonsense.” Thomas plucks a flute of champagne from a waiting tray and hands it to Lafayette, before taking one for himself. “Nothing is too good for you, my friend.” 

He leads the way through the intimate showing that he has set up for Lafayette to view rings in complete privacy. Lafayette shakes his head but follows from display to display, drinking champagne and taking Thomas’s suggestions as he points out the finer qualities of one ring over the other.

In the end, he chooses a simple, thick, rose gold band, which he has engraved with a short, Latin phrase instead of their initials. Thomas scoffs and folds his arms as the ring is being carefully inscribed, right before them.

“What does that even mean?”

“’Why not?’” Lafayette responds, leaning against the display before thinking better of it and standing upright again.

“Romantic,” Thomas says, rolling his eyes and tipping back the last of his champagne.

Lafayette shakes his head but doesn’t reply. John will like it, he thinks. Rather, he hopes John will love it, not think him crass or unromantic. He’s almost talked himself into regretting it when the jeweler declares it finished and holds it out for his inspection. The metal is warm and beautiful, and Lafayette can already see it on John’s finger. He can’t bring himself to think that it’s anything but perfect as he hands it back, with a nod of approval.

The ring is placed into a small, black box as he hands over his card without regret; he looks to Thomas with a nervous, grateful smile. Thomas still rolls his eyes at him but he reaches over and rubs between his shoulder blades for a moment before Lafayette is handed a simple, unmarked bag, and a pen to sign his credit card slip.

Now he only has to ask John.

 

\--

 

Lafayette proposes a couple of weeks later, after a Halloween party thrown by one of Thomas’s close friends. John is just six days shy of his twenty-sixth birthday, covered in corpse-like makeup, with bloody bite marks on his neck, when he says yes.

Lafayette has to shed a velvet cape and vampire dental caps before he can return the fervor with which John touches and pleads for him. 

No part of loving John is difficult. Not even the part when Henry Laurens tells them, in no uncertain terms, that he does not approve and he will not help them with their wedding. Not even when John cries after, not even when Lafayette has to struggle not to hate the man after John asks him not to. He lives for this man and he will do whatever he must to see that smile come back.

 

\--

 

"I can't believe you're engaged," André says to him later, over skype. He looks good, his beard thicker than Lafayette has ever seen it, his hair buzzed on the sides and the top left long. His glasses are different too, frames thinner than the last pair; Lafayette doesn't like them. "I can't believe you didn't tell me before you popped the question, either." Lafayette sets his chin in his hand; he sees André inspecting his ring. "Kind of plain, isn't it?"

"Hey," Lafayette says, "I picked it out. Or, I picked out one for John and he buy me one to match. Don't be rude."

André laughs a little but he sobers again, fairly quickly. "Seriously, why didn't you tell me? I thought we were friends, Laf."

"We are," Lafayette says, quiet and serious. "I only tell Thomas beforehand. And I am telling you now."

"Your instagram feed told me," André says, just a little note of bitterness in his voice.

Lafayette frowns. "I'm sorry, André. Don't be angry with me. I want you to be happy for me."

André pushes something around on his desk that Lafayette can't see; it sounds like a coffee mug (or more likely, a mug of tea). He sighs and looks up again. "Are _you_ happy?"

Lafayette doesn't have to think before he nods. "Very happy."

"Then I'm happy for you," André says. His face is a little blurry through the webcam but Lafayette knows his voice, he knows that the sentiment is sincere. He's able to smile at André and trust the smile that he sees back. 

"Thank you," Lafayette tells him quietly.

 

\--

 

Lafayette waits until the bedroom door creaks open again and the sound of bare feet pad down the hall toward the living room before he moves. He’s been sitting at the breakfast bar, idly scrolling through his twitter feed ever since John had ended his most recent shouting match on the phone with his father by slamming their door shut and locking himself in. It had ended in tears, it always did. Lafayette knew the drill by this time.

He pulls his favorite mug (the giant Christmas one with a reindeer in an ugly sweater on it) from the cabinet and fills it nearly to the brim. John is curled up on the couch in a Columbia hoodie that has seen better days, and a pair of pajama bottoms too long to be his own; he’s left a cushion of space between his head and the armrest, which Lafayette knows is for him. He lowers himself carefully and waits for John to squirm up and rest his head on his thigh before offering the mug to him.

John rolls his head against his thigh to look up at him, eyes red-rimmed and freckles stark against his skin, flushed with heat still.

“What is it?”

“Old French cure,” Lafayette assures him.

John handles it carefully and takes a sip without question. “It’s wine,” he says, looking back up.

Lafayette sinks a hand into his curls, just a little bit sweaty at the roots, and tugs it gently free from its elastic. He nods encouragingly. “Old French cure.”

John snorts and takes another, longer drink before setting it down on the coffee table. He’s silent for a long time and Lafayette waits him out, dragging careful fingers through his hair, working knots free with practiced ease. 

“I don’t know why he won’t just help me,” he murmurs, voice quiet and sad, making Lafayette’s heart jump painfully in his chest. 

“We don’t need his money, John,” Lafayette tells him for some innumerable time. He brings his other hand down to rest over John’s heart, rubbing gently back and forth over the worn fabric of his hoodie.

John shakes his head. “It’s not about that. He helped my brother with his wedding; he should help me.”

“Jacky, my love,” Lafayette soothes, “we do not need his money. I will take care of everything, you know this.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” John grumbles. Lafayette’s hand stills in his hair and John looks up at him again. “Not like _that_ ,” he amends. John rolls onto his back and presses his hand over Lafayette’s on his chest, laying the other overtop his own. The ring on John’s left hand warms quickly between their skin. They’re both quiet again for a while, only the sound of the furnace kicking on drowns out the sound of their breathing. 

“We should just elope,” John murmurs after a while. His eyes are shut when Lafayette looks down at him, but he looks calmer than before, still gripping his hand.

“We can do this, if you wish. I have no need for pomp and circumstance.”

John snorts and opens his eyes, a small smile lifting his mouth. “Says the French royalty.”

“I am not royalty,” Lafayette groans, “stop saying this.”

John grins and rolls onto his side, pressing his face into Lafayette’s stomach for a moment before pulling back enough to breathe. Lafayette reaches for his hand and John threads their fingers together. 

“I will run away with you, if it is what you wish, John,” Lafayette reiterates, twisting a curl around the index finger of his free hand. “We could go back to France. Or to your City of Sin.” John snorts again and shakes his head.

“I won’t get married in Vegas.”

“Or just down to… ahh, how you say? To see the judge?”

“Down to the courthouse.”

“Oui.” John shakes his head again. “What do you want, Jacky? Tell me.”

John falls silent again and Lafayette contents himself with rubbing his thumb over the rose gold band that’s been sitting on John’s finger for exactly seven weeks, now. Lafayette has been counting. 

“I don’t know,” John tells him in a quiet voice. “I just want to be with you.”

Lafayette lets go of his hand to clasp John’s cheek and turn his head until John is looking up at him again. “I have a friend who could marry us.”

“Where?”

“Nice.” John continues to look at him and Lafayette touches his fingertip to his favorite of John’s freckles, the cluster on the side of his nose and the darker smattering across his forehead. His eyes close under Lafayette’s careful ministrations. When he doesn’t say anything further, Lafayette continues speaking. 

“There are beautiful beaches there. Turquoise water, open-air markets, wonderful food, museums,” he trails off, resting his thumb on John’s cheekbone. “Terribly romantic, I would say.”

A huff of amusement leaves John. “Where would we get married?” John prompts in a quiet voice.

“Wherever you want,” Lafayette says easily. “There is no poor location for a wedding on the French Riviera. We could go to Saint-Tropez or Cannes, even, if Nice is not to your liking.”

“Nice is… nice.”

Lafayette swats the back of his head and John laughs, opening his eyes again. 

“It is not polite to make fun on words with me,” Lafayette sniffs haughtily. John prods him in the stomach and Lafayette leans down to kiss his smiling lips. “That is better,” he murmurs, nipping at John’s bottom lip and stroking his curls back behind his ear. 

John reaches for his hand, the one with the matching ring John had insisted on buying him the afternoon after Lafayette had proposed (when they’d finally managed to drag themselves out of bed and behave themselves in public). He twists the shining band around Lafayette’s finger.

“I can’t go until the semester ends,” John tells him, eyes still on their hands, like he’s afraid Lafayette might say no or change his mind, or some other such mad notion. 

“This is fine,” Lafayette assures him. “I will wait forever for you, John.”

John shakes his head again but he doesn’t say anything contrary; the corners of his eyes are crinkled like they are when he smiles. 

“After finals. We can go.”

Lafayette’s heart starts to beat harder in his chest. “Yes?” he asks, voice coming out decidedly more breathless than he’d have liked.

John stares at him a moment, eyes searching, before he sits up, dislodging both of Lafayette’s hands, and maneuvers himself into a sitting position on his thighs. Lafayette rests his palm on one of John’s knees and settles the other arm around his waist, holding him steady as John’s own arms wind around his neck; he presses their foreheads together.

When John speaks again, it’s in quiet French. “ _My father will have a fit if I come home married to you._ ”

Lafayette responds in kind, his stomach twisting and face heating pleasantly at hearing John speak his native language so well. It’s just one more thing he loves about John.

“ _I don’t give a shit what your father thinks of me or what we do together._ ”

John strokes and tugs gently at the knotted poof of hair at the back of his head. “You can’t leave me,” John says, switching back to English, sounding small and just this side of afraid. “He’ll cut me out, Gil. I won’t—you’re all I’ve got.”

Lafayette takes a shaky breath to calm his nerves, feeling frayed and shot. This conversation is nothing new between them. It started almost immediately after Lafayette met Henry Laurens; the insecurities John works so ardently to overcome, not living up to his father’s expectations. Lafayette has never cared for the man, especially not after the first time he’d caused John to cry with nasty words about their relationship. 

“Nothing could take me from you, you know this.” He tucks an errant curl behind John’s ear and takes hold of his chin with his thumb and forefinger. Lafayette takes another calming breath before he speaks, switching back to French; he wants to be certain that he’s saying what he means.

“ _I don’t believe you give your father enough credit, Jacky,_ ” Lafayette tells him. “ _He loves you, he is just… he will get over it, once we are married._ ”

“You don’t know that,” John murmurs, voice shaking slightly.

Lafayette kisses at his parted lips. “ _No, I do not. But I feel it. He would not turn you out over this. Not if it means losing you forever. No one could, John; you are too wonderful to give up permanently._ ”

John’s forehead bumps his own before those smooth, gentle hands take hold of his head and he leans in to kiss him hard. Lafayette responds in kind, sucking on John’s tongue when it pushes into his mouth, cradling his head in his hands, and pressing every ounce of desire he feels for this man who will be his husband into this single touch. 

“ _I will want you forever and I will keep you always,_ ” he promises when John pulls back to breathe.

Lafayette runs his hands up and down John’s back when he presses his face against his neck. His eyelashes are damp where they touch his skin, but John isn’t crying. He relaxes slowly, inch by inch, until Lafayette is slumped down against the plush cushions of the couch, cradling John against him.

Lafayette rests his cheek against the top of John’s head as a comfortable silence settles over them. He almost thinks John has fallen asleep when he speaks again.

“Your name is going to be insane when you tack mine onto it.”

Lafayette snorts a laugh into John’s hair and squeezes him tighter. “I’m used to it,” he shrugs. “At least you only have one name to give me, though I would take a hundred.”

John butts his head playfully against Lafayette’s jaw. 

“Sweet talker,” he says before letting out a yawn.

Lafayette makes a motion toward the mug on the coffee table, which John reads without clarification. He hands it over and Lafayette takes a sip. John goes quiet before long, breath going deep and even, and Lafayette sits, content under his weight, drinking wine from a Christmas mug. He has everything he needs here.

 

\--

 

The second time John’s leg slips off of the couch and jerks him awake, Lafayette nudges him upright.

“To bed with you, darling.” 

“’m not that tired,” John insists.

“Nonsense. Go, I will be in shortly.”

John doesn’t protest again, just accepts the kiss that Lafayette presses to his temple and sleepily pads down the hallway to their bedroom. Lafayette gathers up the near-empty mug of wine and takes it to the kitchen to run water into it. He’s going through his nightly routine, checking that the front door is locked, that the lights are off, that John’s keys are in the dish in the front hallway where he’ll be sure to remember them, when he hears John’s phone ringing. 

It’s buzzing rather loudly on the floor against the leg of the coffee table where he must have tossed it after fighting with his father. Lafayette bends to pick it up and pauses with it in his hand as it goes silent, Henry Laurens’ name fading into _missed call_ on the screen. Lafayette goes to pocket it when it starts ringing again, John’s father’s name glowing up at him.

He hesitates for a moment, glancing down the hall toward their darkened bedroom, before he swipes his thumb across the screen and answers the call. 

“’ello?” he asks, letting his accent thicken deliberately.

There is a heavy pause before a throat clears and Henry Laurens’ voice filters through the speaker. “Lafayette,” he says, not by way of greeting. “I was calling to speak with my son.”

“I figured as you call ‘is phone.”

There’s another pause, followed by an irritated sigh. “Put him on, please.”

“’e is sleeping,” Lafayette tells him, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder to fold the blanket that resides on the back of the couch. “We did many ‘omosexual things together today, ‘e is very tired, you understand.”

Henry lets out an impatient sound. “Lafayette. My son, please.”

“‘e is sleeping. I will not wake ‘im so you can upset 'im. I just calm 'im down.”

“Jack has a flair for the dramatic—”

“Non, ‘e merely wishes for ‘is father’s love and respect.” Lafayette tosses the blanket over the back of the couch.

“You don’t have a place in my relationship with my son,” Henry says, voice going low and angry.

Lafayette closes his eyes and begs god to grant him patience. “What ‘urts John ‘urts me. You are driving ‘im away from you, and if you are ‘alf the father I ‘ope you are, then you will not wish to lose ‘im.” Silence meets him but Lafayette knows that Henry hasn’t hung up on him, he’s listening. “I will marry your son, without your blessing, and I will take ‘im back to France with me when my visa expires.”

“John won’t move to France.” Henry’s voice is not at all as certain as Lafayette knows he wishes it was.

“I think you will find ‘e will if you continue on like this.”

“I will not give John money for your wedding.”

“This is not about money,” Lafayette scoffs. “Keep your money, I ‘ave no need for it. I will give John anything that ‘e wants and everything that ‘e needs. John doesn’t want your money, anyway. If you would _listen_ to ‘im, you would know ‘e just wants your goddamn approval.”

A creak of the floorboards behind him causes Lafayette to jump and twist around. John is standing at the entrance of the living room, watching him. His brows are drawn together and his eyes look watery, reflecting pinpricks of color from the Christmas lights outlining the living room windows.

“Gil?” John practically whispers. “Is that my dad?”

“Oui, cheri,” Lafayette says, holding the phone away from his mouth. 

John watches him, unmoving, one hand against the wall, as Lafayette turns his attention back to what Henry is saying in his ear.

“—why you’re so hellbent on taking my son away from me.”

“I am not taking anything from you. You give 'is brothers anything and deny 'im everything. You lose the things you mistreat, no?”

There is a sizable stretch of silence before Lafayette hears Henry sigh, but he says nothing further. Lafayette remains convinced that Henry is not the total bastard he makes himself out to be, that redemption is not so far away as John despairs.

“Henry,” Lafayette says, letting his accent clear a little. “Speak to your son.”

John crosses the distance between them and takes the phone when Lafayette offers it to him.

“Daddy?” John asks, voice tentative and quiet, a hint of the Carolinian accent he’s tried so hard to shed seeping into that one, simple word.

Lafayette wraps both arms around him from behind and rests his chin on John’s shoulder. He can hear the muffled sound of Henry’s voice, parsing a few words here and there. John isn’t exactly happy when he hangs up, several minutes later, but he isn’t upset either. He stares down at his phone for a moment before he turns in Lafayette’s arms, allowing him to straighten to his full height.

“What did you say to him?” John asks.

“Nothing I wouldn’t say to his face.”

John’s mouth twitches before he buries his face in Lafayette’s neck. “He said he’ll be in the city next week and that we should get dinner together.”

Lafayette rubs at the small of John’s back with both hands. “That’s good, Jacky.”

“All three of us.”

Lafayette arches an eyebrow that John doesn’t see. Henry Laurens has never made it a point to invite him to anything since being introduced as John’s significant other. Rather, he has rather made it a point to _not_ invite Lafayette to things, which he shows up to regardless, at John’s insistence.

“That is… new.”

“You’ll come, right? Gil, I need you to come. Please, he never—”

Lafayette shushes him. “Of course, love, I will come.”

John takes a contented breath and goes quiet again. Lafayette lets his hands roam up and down the warm expanse of John’s back for a minute before he eases back, taking his hand as he goes. 

“To bed,” he says, tugging John along with him.

John doesn’t argue; he crawls back under the rucked up sheets and Lafayette follows, pressing up tightly against his back. He kisses John’s shoulder, his neck, jaw, and finally his mouth, before settling down into the pillows. 

“Love you,” John murmurs as Lafayette’s fingers toy lightly at his curls. 

“I love you, too, mon cher.”

 

\--

 

Lafayette wakes before John and rolls onto his back to grab for his phone on the nightstand, his arm still trapped beneath John’s head. The time shows just after seven; he cannot get out of the habit of waking on John’s class schedule, even on the weekends. He drops his phone on his other side and presses himself more firmly to John’s back.

He should get up, regardless, he tells himself. He should check his emails from home, the status of his visa extension, any number of things, but John is warm and content, curled up small in his arms, and Lafayette can’t bring himself to move. He flattens his palm over John’s sternum and closes his eyes. 

When he wakes again, the room is lighter, but not by much. Winter is truly starting to make itself known here, and Lafayette is excited for it; he has always loved the snow, and even more, has loved watching John bundle up against the cold to go out. He says it’s the unfortunate southerner in him that doesn’t fair well in this sort of weather, but Lafayette has, so far, enjoyed the redness in his cheeks and even the way John chooses to warm his frigid fingers by shoving them up under Lafayette’s own shirt.

The wind is whipping passed the window, howling as it blows between their building and the one beside. Lafayette again rolls to his back, situating himself on his own pillow, and carefully eases his sleeping arm out from underneath John. The air in the apartment is warm but he knows the floor will be cold, so he doesn’t move; he merely lies still and listens to the soft sounds of John breathing beside him. He is content like this.

He has no idea how long he lies there before John begins to wake. The man is like a kitten in the mornings, stretching out as far as he can go before curling back in on himself, whining all the while. He reaches behind himself and flaps his hand at nothing, making Lafayette snort a quiet laugh.

“Gilbert,” John practically whimpers. “’m cold.”

“You are not,” Lafayette admonishes. 

“I _am_ ,” John insists, twisting under the covers until he’s turned and burrowed into Lafayette’s side. The pins and needles sensation bites at his palm as John squirms over his arm, but he pulls him close and disregards it. “That’s better,” John murmurs, nuzzling down into his neck.

“My poor John,” Lafayette coos sympathetically, rubbing at his back through the covers. John nods and pushes his hand under the waist of his pajama bottoms. His hand comes to rest on his thigh, fingers chilled but not entirely uncomfortable.

“Warm me up,” John insists after a moment, with a tinge of a whine still on his voice.

Lafayette hums quietly. “And how shall I do this, mon cher?”

John edges his hand over to curl around his flaccid length, making Lafayette jump at the contact. John laughs as he swears under his breath.

“That will get you nothing, with your icicle fingers,” he admonishes, but already he is stiffening up under the attention, blood warm from his morning arousal. He lies still, arm tight around John as he rubs him with his warming hand, dry but easy, careful not to cause him pain. It takes only a minute for John to have him fully hard, straining in his pajama pants, with a finger at the partly exposed head of his cock. He shudders under the tentative pressure at his slit, rubbing through the bead of wetness that has welled under the attention.

“John,” he breathes, nudging John’s head up until he can kiss him. John’s hand drops lower to cup his balls, squeezing and rolling them together as Lafayette kisses him for all he’s worth. He sucks at John’s tongue and nips at his bottom lip before he pulls away, bringing a hand up to fist in his curls.

“What do you want?” he asks, voice thickening in his throat as John’s hand maintains short strokes over the head of his cock.

“Fuck me,” John breathes and Lafayette chases the words to his mouth, rolling him onto his back without preamble. 

The covers come loose when Lafayette kneels up in the spread of John’s legs, and the burst of cool air makes his skin crawl with goosebumps. Lafayette tugs his shirt off and tosses it aside as John does the same, then lifts his hips to help in the removal of his pajama bottoms. He’s flushed and bare and absolutely gorgeous there beneath him; his build is slight but strong, skin tone rich and smattered with freckles, bunched over his shoulders and down his chest, his hair a tangled halo of thick, dark curls that Lafayette wants to tug until he cries. He is beautiful.

John shies under the scrutiny and twists to reach for the bottle of lube sitting on his nightstand to divert the attention. Lafayette smacks his ass when he turns before palming a generous handful. John yelps and flops back down, aiming an unimpressed look at him; it’s ruined by the smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

Lafayette just grins down at him as he shoves at his pajama bottoms, eager to be as bare as John. He wraps a hand around his own cock, giving himself a few tight strokes before letting go. John hands over the lube and draws his knees up; Lafayette shifts around until they rest on his shoulders and pushes up to spread him wide. There is a flush at John’s neck that tells of his slight embarrassment, still modest and just the tiniest bit unsure of himself here, where Lafayette wants him to be nothing but confident.

He rubs a slick finger against John’s hole for a moment before sliding it home. John’s thigh muscles clench and quake against his shoulders before going loose once more. Lafayette grips at his hip, holding him down, even though John isn’t moving more than to push back against his hand. He likes the pressure, likes the reminder that Lafayette is there, holding him here, between his body and the bed. He knows that John feels safer like this, so he obliges him here, rather than to wrap a hand around the erection curving up toward his stomach.

He quickly works his way to three fingers and before long, John is arching up, heels digging into his back as he grips at the sheets. 

“Gil, please,” he pleads, eyes bright and watery when they meet his own. 

Lafayette shushes him as he pulls his fingers free and reaches for the lube once more. He slicks himself with a few efficient strokes and then guides himself forward. John reaches his own hand down between them to grasp him, rubbing the swollen head of Lafayette’s cock over his own hole before he bears down and Lafayette pushes. It’s an uncomfortable moment of pressure where Lafayette always thinks that it won’t work, that he won’t be able to fit himself inside, before John’s body cedes to him and he sinks into that warm, wet, familiar heat.

They let out matching groans as Lafayette works his hips back and forth to ease himself fully in. John’s legs slide off of his shoulders and come up to bracket his sides, ankles locking at the small of his back. Lafayette collapses against his chest, kissing and gripping at him with both hands, fingers digging into his thighs and pulling at his hair, as he starts to thrust.

John’s fingernails scrape at his back, leaving lines of fire on his skin that Lafayette will cherish until they fade. He exhales into Lafayette’s mouth, small groans and helpless-sounding _oh_ s escaping him every time Lafayette pounds into him. It feels like Lafayette’s body is burning up from the inside. His cock aches from being so hard, pumping slick and fast into John as he clings to Lafayette and begs for more, burying his face in his neck.

There is a quiet voice, whimpering and barely audible over the smack of their skin and the creak of the bed, whispering, “don’t stop, don’t stop,” over and over; Lafayette wants to respond, wants to tell it that he couldn’t stop if he wanted to, but he can’t speak. He raises himself to his elbows and grabs the headboard, only kept from banging against the wall by a pillow lodged between them for that very reason; he uses the leverage to change the angle, to pull himself forward and aid the thrust of his hips. His thighs burn with the exertion, sweat dampening his roots and beading at his temples as he fucks John into the mattress. 

He has no idea how long it goes on, only that John’s face is twisted in ecstasy and he’s panting, between every reverent, “oh my god,” that escapes his slick, bitten mouth. 

John is a fucking dream, wet and tight and clinging to him with his entire body, his leaking cock dragging against his abs, face flushed and hair wild, and Lafayette is suddenly right on the edge. He fumbles the hand at John’s hip down between them to stroke him off. John comes with a desperate cry, fingers yanking at Lafayette’s hair as he arches up, shooting over his own stomach and slicking his fist.

He strokes John through the peak of it until his body starts to sag back to the mattress, and then he lets go, increasing his pace, pushing harder and faster, until he can’t think beyond the sweet ache that has built in his stomach. John touches his face, hands reverent, fingers trailing down over his sweat-sticky cheeks, to brush his lips, and that’s all it takes to rip his orgasm from him. He chokes on his breath and it comes out as a strangled groan, hips pushing closer, holding himself as deeply as he can while he comes inside of John.

John holds him, stroking his hair through it.

Lafayette’s entire body feels shaky and depleted as he pulls out as carefully as he can and drops down, exhausted, beside John. They share a pillow, lying too close, too hot, but neither of them moves away. John’s fingers slip through his own and Lafayette squeezes them tighter, closing his eyes in content as John’s ring presses painfully against his knuckle.

 

\--

 

The bath is hardly big enough for the both of them, but Lafayette doesn’t let that stop him as he steps into the scalding water, around John’s legs. He’s got his Christmas mug in one hand and an actual wine glass in the other, which he holds aloft as he situates himself, facing John, and avoiding the faucet behind him. 

John has sunk down far enough that his mouth is under the water, and both of his knees have risen above it. The tub isn’t big but it’s deeper than most Lafayette has seen since coming to the city. For a moment, he longs for the freestanding, clawfoot tub in his bathroom back home. He envisions both himself and John soaking together in it, without sacrificing space or the ability to properly submerge themselves. Some day, he tells himself.

Water splashes over the edge of the tub when John reaches out for the glass of wine that Lafayette offers him, but neither of them pays it any mind. 

They’re both silent for a while, sipping at their glasses as the water slowly goes cold around them. 

“Finals are next week,” John tells him, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Yes?” Lafayette asks; he knows this but John must be saying it for some other reason.

He nods, absently swirling the remaining wine in his glass. “Do you—I mean, are you ready to, you know… get married so soon?”

There is a flush on his cheeks that Lafayette knows isn’t from the waning heat of the water. He sits up, putting his free hand on John’s knee as he goes. 

“I would marry you in an hour, if it was what you wanted, Jacky,” he assures.

John fights a losing battle against a smile and ducks his head for a moment before looking up, his damp curls clinging to his neck. 

“I want to, over break. If you do.”

Lafayette can’t stop the smile tugging at his lips. “Of course. To Nice?” he asks.

John seems to think about it a moment before he nods. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Water goes pouring out over the floor as Lafayette pushes himself forward, knocking both of their limbs into the wall and the side of the tub as he does. John doesn’t even acknowledge it in his haste to return the kiss Lafayette presses against his mouth.

He loses his mug somewhere along the way, and the fingers he twines into John’s wet locks are pruny, but it’s the sweetest kiss that Lafayette could imagine, better than any movie he’s ever seen or any book that he’s ever read. Because this is real and it’s his. 

He can’t think of a single thing more to ask for besides what he has right here, cradled in his hands and between his legs. 

John is his and soon it will be forever.


End file.
